“YES!” Stig exploded. “You raise the sail. And you, the other one, whoever the blazes you are, you trim the sail.”
“I’m Wulf,” Wulf said.
“And I don’t care!” Stig told him. “Just do as I ask!”
“All right,” Wulf said, rolling his eyes to indicate how contrary Stig was being. He and his twin withdrew and moved to their stations. Stefan and Edvin, who had watched the exchange with some amusement, climbed over the rail and dropped to the shallow water.
“You’re leaving yourself short-handed,” Edvin said to Stig.
The tall boy nodded grimly. “I know it. I have no other choice, do I?”
Edvin considered the point, then shrugged. “I suppose not. But if the wind dies, you’ll only have two people to man the oars.”
“The wind has blown steadily offshore every night for weeks,” Stig told him. “Why should it drop tonight?”
“I don’t know,” Edvin admitted. “Maybe because you’ll need it tonight.”
Stig glared at him for several seconds. Edvin met his gaze, but he had the grace to look apologetic for raising the matter.
Finally, Stig said firmly, “The wind is not going to drop tonight. All right?”
“Fine,” Edvin agreed. “Whatever you say.”
“Good.” Stig noticed a slim figure moving toward him and he looked away from Edvin. “Hullo, Lydia,” he said. “Come to see us off?”
In truth, Lydia had been planning to talk her way on board for the trip. She was frustrated with the lack of activity, sitting quietly by waiting for the attack to start. She wanted to be doing something, and she felt she might have a chance of convincing Stig. But the discussion she’d just overheard convinced her otherwise.
“Just came to wish you good luck,” she said.
Stig smiled. “We’ll be fine,” he said, gesturing to the ship. “Nothing to it. Sail in, drop them off. Sail out again.”
“I meant, good luck finding Hal,” she said, and the smile faded as Stig thought about the night ahead of him.
“Yeah. Of course. Don’t worry. We’ll pick him up, all right.” He felt a twinge of concern for his friend. And, oddly, he felt a slight stab of jealousy as well. Lydia hadn’t been concerned about his well-being, he thought. She was worried about Hal.
Then he pushed the unworthy feeling aside. Hal was in a far more dangerous situation than he would be. Why should he feel jealous because Lydia was more concerned about him? Yet he did, and he was angry at himself for feeling that way.
“Better be going,” he said abruptly, to conceal his confusion. Sensing that she had offended him somehow, Lydia made a tentative gesture toward him. But he’d already turned away and swung himself lightly up and over the ship’s rail, picking his way aft through the crowded Limmatans.
Instead, she joined Edvin and Stefan to help shove the ship off. Ingvar, who had been hovering nearby, moved down the beach to help them, and the Heron slid backward into deeper water. Stig worked the tiller, rowing the stern around until the ship was facing the open sea.
“Starboard sail,” he called, and one of the twins heaved the yard and sail up, while his brother hauled it in tight against the wind. As the ship gathered way, Stig held her in a smooth curve out from the beach. The Heron moved quickly into the night, a dark shadow on an equally dark sea, until the only sign of her was the occasional white flash of the waves at her bow.
Jesper flattened himself against the rough boards of the gate, scarcely daring to breathe as he heard the measured tramp of the sentry passing overhead.
Under the overhang of the gate portal as he was, there was no way he could be seen by the sentry, unless the man leaned way out, over the top of the palisade, and peered back inward. There was no reason to think the man would do so—unless Jesper made a noise.
He no longer felt the cold. Adrenaline was surging through his system, dispelling any sensation of discomfort. He waited till the footsteps receded. He knew from his observation that he had three minutes before the sentry returned. He laid the oil bladder carefully in the sand at the base of the gate, reached into his pocket for a small auger Hal had given him and stretched as high as possible to begin drilling a hole in the gate.
Hal thinks of everything, he thought. Left to his own devices, Jesper would never have thought to bring the auger and the small spike that Hal had provided. He would have gone to all the trouble and effort of making his way to the gate unseen, then realized that there was nothing from which he could hang the oil bladder.
He worked the auger round and round. It was an awkward action, reaching high above his head, and the wood was hardened with the drying effect of years of salt and wind, which had shrunk its fibers, binding them more tightly together, making them harder to penetrate. But he persisted.
The footsteps were returning and he froze once more, allowing them to pass before he continued drilling. At last, he decided that the hole was deep enough and he took the spike from his pocket and rammed it into the hole. It was a few millimeters smaller than the drill, so there was no need to hammer it in. He grinned mirthlessly. There was no way he could have hammered it in anyway, not without being heard. For that reason, he had angled the drill downward as he bored the hole. As a result, when he forced the spike into position, it sloped slightly upward. When he hung the oilskin on it, the angle would keep it firmly in the hole. He worked the spike in now as far as he could, feeling it hit solid wood as he reached the end of the hole he’d drilled.
He hung the oil bladder over the spike, arranging it so it lay flat against the wood of the gate. He released his grip carefully, making sure that the spike would hold firm. Then he stopped once more as the footsteps approached, then receded.
There was one more refinement that had occurred to him. The gate obviously hadn’t been used in weeks, and a certain amount of rubbish and detritus had gathered near the foot of the wall, including several dead branches and strings of dried weed. Jesper gathered a few quickly, scuttling out from the cover of the gateway recess to retrieve them, and piled them roughly at the foot of the gate, beneath the point where the oil bladder hung. When Hal pierced it, the oil would gush down, drenching the gate. But a large amount would simply run off into the sand. This way, the oil running off the gate would soak into the dried pile of kindling he’d just collected. It would catch fire as well, and when it burned, it would help the flames spread to the hard timbers.
“Every little bit helps,” Jesper muttered, eyeing his handiwork. Then he crouched as he heard the footsteps again. They passed without pausing, as they had since he’d been by the gate. Once he was sure the way was clear, he crept silently on hands and knees away from the wall. There was a deep undulation in the sand five meters away and that was his first objective. He reached it and lay facedown, unmoving in its shadow, until the footsteps passed again in the opposite direction. Then he moved off again, heading for his next stop—a tussock of rough grass to his right.
As he belly crawled across the cool sand, he sensed a change. Something was different. Something wasn’t the way it had been. He reached the scant cover of the tussock and lay there, concentrating. He frowned as he sought to determine what it was that he’d sensed.
Then it came to him. The wind had dropped.
chapter twenty - eight
The trip to the Limmatans’ drop-off point had gone without a hitch. Stig brought the Heron on a long, curving course into the bay, then back to the beach where the first party of troops had spent the day.
Barat had been watching for their arrival. As the bow of the ship grated gently against the sand, he waded thigh deep into the water to greet them.
“You’re late,” he said. “I expected you an hour ago.”
Gracious as ever, Stig thought. He made a vague gesture at the night around them.
“The wind isn’t as strong as last night,” he said. “We couldn’t manage the same speed.” Then he couldn’t stop himself adding, with an acid tone to his voice, “Plus we were carry
ing a heavier load, which nobody mentioned to us.”
“Hmmmph. Well, better late than never, I suppose,” Barat replied as his men began to disembark and form up in a loose circle on the beach, awaiting further orders. Ulf and Wulf stood by the bulwarks in the bow, helping any who were uncertain of their movements. Not all the Limmatans were accustomed to moving about on board ship.
Stig brought forward an armful of water skins and a few sacks of food—bread and dried meat for the most part—and handed them down to Jonas. Then he dropped over the rail to the beach.
“This should keep you going,” he said. He looked at Barat. “Remember, stay out of sight tomorrow, then attack the day after, two hours after noon.”
They’d added the extra day to the schedule when it was realized that Hal would probably be exhausted when they picked him up. They had set the time for the attack as mid-afternoon, which would place the sun in the eyes of the defenders as the Heron attacked the two towers.
Barat snorted. “Still don’t know why we don’t attack at dawn. That’s the traditional time.”
Stig took a deep breath, controlling his annoyance with an effort. This had all been discussed. But of course, Barat was choosing to conveniently forget that fact. Stig was beginning to realize that the Limmatan leader simply liked argument for its own sake. He’d fit in well with Ulf and Wulf, he thought.
“That’s why we’re leaving it till mid-afternoon,” he answered in measured tones. “Dawn attacks are traditional, which means people expect them. That’s why garrisons usually stand to just before dawn. They’re on their toes. By mid-afternoon, they’re more interested in sleeping off their lunch. We discussed this,” he added pointedly.
Barat shook his head. “Doesn’t mean I agree.” Then, he gave away the reason behind his petulance, glancing up at the boat. “Is Lydia with you?”
Stig shook his head. He’d seen Lydia loitering by the ship when they were loading and guessed what she had in mind. “Couldn’t fit her in. She wanted to come but we were already overloaded.”
Barat regarded him uncertainly. He wasn’t sure if Stig meant that Lydia had wanted to see him, Barat, or that she had wanted to accompany Stig. He hesitated, not sure what to say next.
“Stig… ,” Wulf said quietly.
Stig turned to him, grateful for the interruption. “What is it, Ulf?”
“I’m Wulf,” the twin said, aggrieved. Was it really so hard to tell him from his brother? he thought. After all, he had no problem with it. Stig raised a hand in apology.
“Sorry,” he said, making a mental note never to use either of their names in conversation again. “What is it, Wulf?” he said, and realized he’d just broken that resolution.
“The wind. It’s died,” Wulf told him.
Stig swung round, looking at the trees on the top of the hills inland. They were still. Then he turned again, looking across the smooth water of the bay. There were no ripples on the surface. Wulf was right. The wind had died.
He glanced up at the stars to gauge the time. In a few minutes, the tide would begin to ebb, and Hal and Jesper would push their makeshift raft off from the beach and drift out with it, searching the ocean around them for their first sight of Heron.
Except Heron wouldn’t be there. With no wind and only two crew members to row, Stig would never make it to the pickup point in time. He felt a surge of panic, forced himself to calm down and think. What could he do? What would Hal do?
The answer came to him. He stepped closer to Barat.
“I need six of your men,” he said urgently. “Six men who’ve worked around boats.”
Heron carried eight oars, although they rarely used more than four or six. With eight men rowing—Ulf and Wulf and six Limmatans—they’d make the rendezvous in time.
Barat gave a short laugh. “Maybe you do. But you’re not getting them,” he said. His tone was final.
Stig glanced to Jonas, who stepped forward, his hands spread out in an appeal to his commander.
“Barat, be reasonable. We can—”
But Barat cut him off with a short, chopping gesture.
“I need all the men we have!” he said. “I can’t cut our force by six!”
They were speaking in low tones, and so far, the assembled Limmatans hadn’t heard what they’d been saying. Stig kept his voice low now.
“You already have four extra. In effect, I’m only asking for two.”
Barat was shaking his head. Stig took a deep breath, controlling the outburst of rage that wanted to flare up. He touched Barat’s arm and pointed to a small clump of rocks twenty meters down the beach.
“Can we discuss this in private, please? It’s not good for the men to see us arguing.”
“We can discuss it as long as you like. You’re not getting those men.” But Barat allowed Stig to take his arm and guide him toward the outcrop of rocks. Stig jerked his head to Jonas, indicating that the second in command should join them.
The sand squeaked under their boots as they walked along the beach. Then they moved behind the rocks, out of sight.
“You realize,” Stig said quietly, still forcing himself to be reasonable, “that if I’m not there to pick Hal up, he’ll drift out to sea?”
Barat shrugged. “He knew the risk when he took the job,” he said. “I always thought it was a harebrained idea.”
“And you realize that without Hal, we won’t be able to attack the towers? He’s the only one who’s trained to shoot the giant crossbow.” At the last moment, he chose not to call it the Mangler, sensing that the name would only lead to a derisive reply. But Barat made another negative gesture.
“Do you seriously think that plan is going to work?” he said dismissively. “You lot can cruise up and down the bay shooting your oversize crossbow all you like. But it won’t damage the towers. In the end, we’ll have to do all the hard work and face all the danger. And for that, I’m going to need every man I’ve got.”
Stig glanced at Jonas. He could tell from the pained expression on the man’s face that he disagreed with Barat.
“What do you think?” he said.
Jonas hesitated, then seemed to firm on an opinion. “I think we could manage without—”
“It doesn’t matter what he thinks!” Barat cut in sharply. “I’m in command! He’s not!”
“And that’s your final word?” Stig said.
Barat snorted and didn’t even bother to answer.
“Well, I tried,” Stig said in a mild tone to Jonas. Then he hit Barat with every ounce of his strength.
The blow was so unexpected, so out of keeping with the mild, almost disappointed tone of voice that Stig had been using, Barat never saw it coming.
It was a savage right that connected flush on the side of his jaw, lifted him off his feet, then dropped him to the sand like a sack of potatoes. Stig’s left fist, cocked and ready for a follow-up, wasn’t required. Barat was out like a light.
“Gorlog’s breath, I’ve been dying to do that for days!” Stig muttered.
Jonas goggled at him. “What are you doing?” he asked, shocked at the unexpected explosion of violence.
“I’m taking six of your men and I’m going to find my friend,” Stig told him very quietly, but very forcefully. “You’re going to detail them to come with me.”
“But… what about him?” Jonas asked.
Stig thought for a moment or two. “Who’s your god of battles in these parts?”
“What?” Jonas asked, confused by the sudden non sequitur. Then, frowning, he answered, “Torika, I suppose.”
“Good. We’ll tell the men Barat stayed behind to pray to Torika for a great victory. Then you detail six men to come with me and I’ll be off. Unless you have any other ideas?” He thrust his jaw forward pugnaciously.
Jonas threw his hands up. “No. Not at all. In fact, I rather wish I’d smacked that pompous idiot myself. Let’s get going.”
They walked down the beach and Jonas detailed six men to reboard the Hero
n. Stig nodded his thanks and they pushed off from the shore, Ulf and Wulf and the six Limmatans rattling their oars out through the oarlocks.
Stig raised a hand to Jonas.
“See you in Limmat, day after tomorrow,” he called. Jonas waved in return, then the oars bit into the water at Wulf’s call and the Heron slid away.
Stig glanced over his shoulder at the rapidly receding beach. From behind the dark tumble of rocks, he thought he could make out a figure, staggering and waving his arms. A cry came faintly to his ears. He smiled.
“Keep calling the stroke, Wulf,” he said. “Make it nice and loud.”
chapter twenty - nine
Hal was peering around the end of the log, looking for some sign of Jesper, when he felt a hand on his leg. He started in fright, just managing to stop from leaping to his feet in shock, and snapped around. Jesper’s grinning face was less than a meter from his own. His teeth looked unnaturally white in his ash-and-grease-blackened face.
“All in place,” Jesper said. “Shall we leave?”
“Good grief!” Hal said, in a harsh whisper. “You frightened the innards out of me! Don’t do that!”
Jesper’s grin widened. His nerves had been strained as tight as a lute string for the past forty minutes. His lighthearted attitude now was due to the relief of the tension he’d been under.
“Sorry,” he said. He sounded anything but. “If the sentries can’t hear me move, I guess you won’t either.”
“How do you do that?” Hal asked. He had heard no sound of the thief’s approach, had seen no sign of movement on the beach.
Jesper shrugged. “A lot of practice. A thief who can’t move without being seen and heard doesn’t stay a thief for long. Now I’d really like to get going, if that’s all right with you.”
Hal gestured for him to wait and broke off a small fragment of dried wood from the log. He tossed it onto the water a meter away and watched it carefully. Slowly, the fragment began to drift toward the beach. He shook his head.
“Tide’s still coming in,” he said briefly. “But we may as well get ready. It’ll be turning soon. Help me drag the log farther out into the water.”
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